


Red...

by BreakingBenFanatic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Blood and Gore, Childhood Trauma, Dark Ages, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Derek Needs To Use His Words, Derek is a Good Alpha, Derek to the Rescue, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Future Sexual Content, Kitsune Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Magic, Middle Ages, Pack Building, Pining Derek, Possessive Derek, Protective Derek, Protective Sheriff Stilinski, Scared Stiles, Scott is a Good Friend, Stiles Stilinski Has ADHD, Stiles Stilinski as Little Red Riding Hood, Witches, Woods man Derek, very dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 03:55:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6268600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreakingBenFanatic/pseuds/BreakingBenFanatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Run, Run, you can't run forever, Little Red!" </p><p>....</p><p>During dark, mysterious fog, Stiles Stilinski is separated from his father when they are blindly attacked by unknown attackers.</p><p>After being saved from a near death of drowning, Stiles soon finds refuge in an old, burned down house, that wasn't really abandoned in the first place and it nearly gets him mauled (or so he thought) for trespassing by the owner- A gorgeous black haired, hazel eyed man that goes by the familiar name "Derek Hale."... Who is also the Alpha of a group of werewolves... And something Stiles fears ever since he was Ten.... </p><p>But he reluctantly suggests: </p><p>That these wolves can help get him back to his father who could either be alive or dead. Hurt or safe...</p><p>In this story, Little Red runs with the wolves and avoids the things that are truly big and bad.</p><p>"Who, Derek? Nah he's more like a big Teddy Bear once you get to know him."</p><p> ~ I down right suck to shit at summaries, but the story is hopefully better" smfh</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first Teen Wolf fic, so I hope most makes sense. Jesus I hope.

Two people, a man and a teen boy stood close to each other; the taller one stood in front of the shorter person.

John Stilinski hovered protectively in front of his seventeen year old son, Stiles, his hand cautiously over the revolver in his gun holster. In that gun, each bullet was packed and covered in Wolfsbane. It is considered a very dangerous weakness for all Werewolves.

A thick, dark grey fog surrounded everything within inches to feet in front and behind them, left and right. It was moist to their skin yet cold to their humanely instincts. Small waves of grey smog swirled and danced absolutely slowly around their legs and hung heavily over their heads. Nothing could or would be seen in this fog except the vibrant red hooded cape the boy wore snuggly around his neck that had both flaps flowing in crimson waves over his slender body (The one John wore was similar, only, it was a tan leather with black lace.).

Stiles pressed closely against his father's back, whiskey brown eyes frantically searching what every little area he could see and hands clutching dearly onto the brown satchel hidden under his hood. He knew they should have been more careful when entering these parts of the woods. They were just barely an hour away from their village. Due to witnessed sightings of a wolf passing by their area more often than usual, it was John's priority- as the village leader- to scope out the situation. Stiles wanted to come along. Moments ago, a thick mist surrounded them and within seconds, they were practically victims to the mysterious fog's cover. 

...

Then soon, that's when they began to hear the faint noise of crunching leaves and the small sound of twigs snapping under pressure. Stiles thought (hoped) it was a small animal or tiny creature or something, but John had other ideas. Which is why they are at this position now; silent they stayed and firm they planted their feet to the ground. The sounds did not stop, but instead reappeared left and right, and front and back. This only made Stiles anxious with fear. 

He's never taken a good strong liking towards wolves- if that's what these noises are coming from- and knew that they are strong, vicious, and very ruthless. The last thing anyone but the bravest ( _and he means the damn courageous men/women_ ) person would want was to go head to head with over two tons of fur and muscle. It was a barbaric way to end your mortality. 

So of coarse he'd rather not have his father trapped in between him and a death wish. John Stilinksi may be strong, probably one of the strongest men Stukes knew, but he was only human. Stiles just could not bare the thought of losing the most important person in his life to a monster in the woods. 

The teen licked his lips nervously, twitching to grab John by the arm and take their chances by running. "D-Dad. C'mon it's probably just a squirrel or something- let's just get out of here," he pleaded through a harsh whisper, only to be silenced by John holding a 'Be quiet' gesture. 

Stiles huffed in irritation, yet stood his ground even closer to the man. Every twig that snapped and every leaf that crunched, the teen flinched. 

_Crunch!... Crunch! Snap!..._

_Crunch!... Snap! Snap!..._

_Snap! Snap! Crunch!..._

_..._

Then they heard it, and the hair stood tall on both necks. Stiles went still as his breath got caught in his throat. He could also see the way his father had tensed as well. They waited for the sound again, and boy, they did not have to wait long....

Because what they recieved were the _multiple_ sounds of wet, heated huffs and puffs coming ahead of them followed by the crunching and snapping, only this time, they were loud and easy to hear without leaning your ear close to the direction. The very familiar huffing and then small whines shot out through the air and splitting the calmness even more. John hastily pulled out his revolver and clicked the back before holding it out in front of him, finger hovering over the trigger. 

As if what he had done was a trigger itself, a low...  _haunting,_ growl rumbled from in front of them causing Stiles to nearly fall back on his ass. Luckily, he had the back of his father's cape to grasp onto like a security blanket. The younger's voice became shaky and went to a hush whisper. His eyes never moved from the mist ahead of them. 

"D-Dad?" 

Despite what Stiles was feeling at the moment, John remained calm and ushered his child more behind him. "Stiles, stay close to me, son. Don't make a sound, okay," he ordered firmly but soothingly. Stiles nodded and hid his face in the spot of his father's collar, trying to calm himself with the smell of leather. It worked for a moment, it gave him the sense of safety and protection that only John could bring him... 

 It had helped... until he heard his father's breath hitch and broad body stiffen. Then there were the sounds of  _several_ growls- each with its own deep tune. 

Stiles shot his head up and immediately regretted that he did... Because right in front of him, right there in the mist, there were multiple pairs of red glowing eyes, glaring directly at the pair with silent promises, filled with hunger and malice. Stiles felt like screaming but his voice stayed stuck inside his throat. Faint memories began to cross rapidly through his mind, each memory holding some relation with eyes of that color. Blindly, the teen gripped John's arm and hastily began tugging on it repeatedly, but John seemed to be frozen in place.

"It's an Alpha pack," John whispered in horror.

It's a very rare thing to see now and days, especially to see that there was more than at least two werewolves close to a village such as theirs. Worst of all, John was with his son alone and they were in the presence of a goddamn  _Alpha_ _Pack_. 

Tears brimmed Stile's eyes. The words _Alpha_ and  _Pack_ did not run so well by him and made him only anxious as ever to run as fast as he could with his dad, and back to the safety of their cabin. "D-Dad, let's go,  _please!"_ he barely managed to whisper despite the terror clinging at his throat. 

To this, another series of growls filled the dreaded silence, with less warning this time. Stile's understood that type of growling- even the most broadest idiot could translate it... 

Meant that it was an _engage_   _command_.

John faltered back fully and turned a little so that his hand was pushing his son back, eager to get him away from the incoming pack. " _Stiles you need to run!"_ the man cried in a strangled whisper. The boy hesitated with a growl of "Not without you!" just as a man, tall with brown hair, red beating eyes and shoulder hunched with claws and fangs out, steps out from the mist. Like a ghoul or demon.

His whole demeanor spelled the words ' _Insanely_ _Deadly_ ' on the top of his forehead.  The look in his bright red murderous eyes would have the village's pastor running in a cloud of dust. A tight grin wears out his face that strikes both son and father with fear. Stiles automatically steps back, but still does not consider running, no matter how scared he's feeling. He will _not_ leave his father behind. 

Just then, the werewolf speaks, voice thickened between a growl and a British accent, "I wonder what brings the Beacon Hills village Leader to _my_ parts of the woods...." Another group of growls rumble in agreement. As his eyes traveled over John, they catch sight of the boy in the red hood that had to be the one most _damn_ noticeable thing on the worst _goddamn_  case scenario. Stiles shrunk into himself, taking another step back, noticing how the wolf tilted his head up and took a whiff of the air. The grin of the man grew even bigger, more intrigued which did not go well with his dark intentions. "Oh... Well this got  _very_ interesting with you, Little Red." 

Shivers racked down the teen's spine. John swished around, guard stupidly off, blindly angered to see that his son had disobeyed him. " _Stiles,_ I said-" he was cut off when the werewolf swiped an arm against his ribs, sending him through the fog's mist without effort until Stile's lost sight of the tan leather cape. Soon after, a thud and loud grunt was heard. The teen choked on his own gasp and lurched forward in a running step.

 _"Father!"_ he screamed. 

Before he could any further to search for the man, a strong clawed hand grabbed him around the neck in a firm grip and he was lifted off the ground and into the air. _Literally_ a foot or two off the ground. The hold was not choking him ( _though the force of gravity pulling him down made breathing a bit of a struggle_ ), so that didn't stop him from releasing a blood curdling shriek that echoed through the woods. The man only chucked darkly. In the grips of a werewolf- capable turning you into his little minion with just one bite was probably Stiles' biggest fear.

And as he looked down, the glowing red eyes were staring hauntingly back up at him. Amusement filled those evil eyes. 

"I wonder if anyone told such a fragile little thing like you to watch out for the big bad wolves of the forest," he crooned, brushing a clawed finger down the exposed skin of Stiles' neck. The teen shuddered and released a terrified sob. He couldn't help it. 

He wasn't able to aid his injured father and worse, he was now being held like a ragdoll by a sick minded werewolf. "Pl-Please..." Stiles whimpered. All past fears were resurfacing very quickly and growing. His hands shook and legs trembled as they kicked weakly. He was brought down a bit, but only so the man could shove away the cape hiding the rest of his shoulder and neck. Terror spiked up the boy's spine and made him feel sick to his stomach. Eagerly, the werewolf pressed his face deep within the curve of Stiles' nape and inhaled, the noise deep and wanting.

This only made Stiles feel revolted and uncomfortable. He yet again tried to struggle, but the clawed grip digging light but firmly in his shoulder and the disadvantage he had with his feet not touching the ground made his efforts hopeless. "I find it enjoyable when you beg, Little Red," the man purred, "makes you even more special to me as it seems." 

 _Special_? 

Stiles gulped and a stray tear slipped down his face that twisted in rising frustration. _Please, no._ He kicked out wildly and was unable to meet a target. "Take... Your paws off me,  you ugly, revolting  _mutt_!" he hissed out in his best threatening tone. He may be helpless in this sort of situation, but hey, at least he had his mouth and way of being rude and sarcastic. Anything to make this manwolf who harmed his dad angry. 

Which is what he got. 

The werewolf showed his sharp canines with a low snarl and using insane strength, he reeled the hand holding Stiles backwards and launched him forward, sending the boy soaring through the air. Stiles flew feet back into the fog before his body landed harshly onto the piles of dead leaves and dry dirt, rolling roughy several times until he came to a stop on his stomach. "God... Damnit," he hissed at the pain radiating through his back and ribs.

He was damn well lucky that they weren't in the rockiest parts of the woods, other wise that landing would have been more severe on his fragile body of pale skin and bones. But no matter, he had to run, because that werewolf may not take mercy upon him again. Stiles made a small noise of pained discomfort, wincing as he scrambled back onto his feet. 

Fear overcame his limbs. Without a second glance back, the teen darted forward as fast as he could possibly go, stumbling a few times and nearly falling on his face. As he ran, there was the distinguished howl, then a cackle of " _Run, run, you can't run forever, Little Red!"_

He ran faster, trying his best to ignore the far sounds of heavy multiple pounding upon the ground, accompanied by loud growls. In the fog, Stiles practically ran blind yet not one care of hitting a tree came past his his racing thoughts. Luckily, he was known for being nimble in his steps in the time of need; gasping gulps of air, he zigzagged and turned directions in hopes of losing his predators. But for one thing, he never took his gripping hands off the satchel. 

Then suddenly, just as he went over a thick fallen tree, the flowing wings of his red hood got caught on a sharp branch, pulling him back abruptly. Stiles yelped, for he was nearly unable to keep most of his balance. Without even glancing to inspect where the caught area was, he instead immediately began to yank on the end of the fabric with both hands. He didn't want to get captured or killed. He was afraid of being caught by that man again. 

He didn't want to be were-food. 

The familiar sounds of the stitching ripping made Stiles even eager so he tugged harder. 

_"Stay away from me!"_ he hopelessly screamed to the path where the sounds of the ground shaking came from. The new tear in the fabric extended and stretched, and Stiles yanked and pulled. Finally, there was a loud zip of the fabric giving out and the boy was free again. Not a beat late, Stiles was once more running in a sprint. Tears freely fell down his dirty scratched face. His long legs shook and threatened to collapse. His heart thudded _loudly_ against his chest. 

But as he glanced down at his feet, it dawned on him that he was probably releasing some sort of scent trail. They were wolves, so he wouldn't be able to lose them if they kept tracking him through smell. Then he remembered the river his father and him came by earlier. Now all he had to do was listen to the distinct sounds of... 

 _There_! 

Stiles gasped and swiftly made another left... Then a right.... Then another right then another left. The small sound of the stream gave him the sign that he was indeed at his temporary destination. Without even hesitating, Stiles jumped directly in the stream, never caring how soaked he became- in fact, the water was deep enough for him to dunk his body fully in. The freezing temperature hit him in a strong bite but he didn't dare resurface. He held his breath and swam more deeper until he came to a bed of heavy rocks. At one point, he stuck his feet under a large boulder to keep himself anchored. 

He flailed his hand up and grabbed onto his hood, pulling it close so it wouldn't draw attention and with the other hand, he gripped the heavy satchel close to his chest.... 

And he waited... 

The water was not only cold but it was also very dark. With the fog floating above it bought a dark dirty filter into the below. In another situation, Stiles would be sorta grossed out, but right now, he was only grateful for the extra coverage... 

A few moments later of the water deafening his ears, Stiles hear the distinct sounds of feet pounding ( _or it could be his own heart_ )... Then come to skidded stops... The water muffled the noises though the teen could tell that there were voices. Maybe five or more, he wasn't taking a gamble. One was particularly higher than the others. There were a few shouts, particularly from two persons and then a intolerant groan. The wolves were probably arguing- hopefully because his plan of foiling their scent tracking worked ... 

Whatever, they needed to hurry and scaddadle because... He think... He might be getting light headed... 

 _Oh shit._  

No oxygen. 

Breath running out... 

Stiles shook his head fiercely from side to side, trying to distract him from the lack of air. The sounds of his own heart thudding completely blocked out the voices from above. 

_Ba-dum! Ba-dum! Ba-dum!_

Black dots popped in the center of his vision every once a few seconds. 

_Ba-dum! Ba-dum! Ba-dum!_

Limbs growing tense... 

_Ba-dum! Ba-dum! Ba-dum!_

The voices from above slowled and then stopped, followed by howling, then the rough footsteps going off and away. Relief swelled inside Stiles and without even thinking, he opened his mouth to release whatever air he had left. The teen jerked with a automatic gasp, he regretted as water shot inside his lungs. He moved to tug his feet from under the boulder, only to realize that it was... _Oh Christ_! 

 _Stuck_. 

Dread took away his relief and panic had take over. Stiles released a silent scream ( _due to the lack of oxygen it made him unable to even form air bubbles_ ) and thrashed roughly.

_Ohshitohshitohshit! Not how I wanna fucking die! Terrible way to fucking die!!!_

Arms flailing, feet trapped in his own leverage, his chest tightened and his brain grew foggy. The black dots in his eyes grew bigger and his heart felt like it was ready to pop out his chest. 

Eventually, unconsciousness, which Stiles could think was his death, started to weigh against his body. His hands that were pressing weakly against the boulder in front of him froze up and floated weightless over his head. His body began to convulse and jerk... His heart eased his thudding and his mind went to the state of blankness. Slowly, wide whiskey amber eyes drifted close, beauty shutting in on itself.

It was then, he heard the small voices of children.

_"If I die... Before I wake..._

_I pray the woods this soul to take..."_

His hands went numb yet his fingers twitched...

_"The spirits watch me through this night..._

_Luring me to slumber with their lullabies..."_

Tired. He started to feel tired. He just, wanted... Sleep.

_"And if there's pain before my death..._

_..._

_I'll close my eyes with a final breath..."_

The hood, as if it were arms, closed around Stiles like a beautiful flower hibernating for winter... He chanted that abandoned hymn with empty meaning. Still, it brought him comfort...   _._

_ Ba _ _.. Dum... Ba... Dum..._

Before darkness over came him, Stiles heard a thick splash hitting the water being invaded, then saw a broad shadow with arms come close. _Was this the Grim Reaper?_ , Stiles thought absently. The last thing he could recall as he felt something warm and strong wrap around his waist, was hearing his friend Scott's voice.

* * *

_Nine year old Stiles Stilinski hastily followed another boy with black hair through the deep parts of their forest, both giggling while they chatted about their morning harassing Miss Fae with their childish pranks. "And-And her face! Haha! It was redder than the roses she grows or the tomatoes she tries to poison her children with on Sundays!" Scott cackled, jumping over a small stream. Stiles was too humour dazed to care and happily got his animal-skin padded feet soaked._

_"I know! Golly, I wish we could see it again, just for the joy of it!" the young Stilinski chirped. Quickly, he caught up so he was right next to his best friend and grabbed onto Scott's wrist. Scott looked down at it affectionately and then met his buddy's gaze with a sad smile. "H... How's Claudia?" he asked hesitantly. Stiles' smiles disappeared within a second of asking the question and a solemn frown replaced the glow of him._

_"Father told me she'll get better eventually. But I know he's lying, I've heard the doctor and him talking earlier." Scott stopped and gently gripped him by the shoulders._

_"Come on, don't speak of things like that, Stiles. I am sure she'll pull through."_

_Stiles gave him doubt filled glare. "She's been screaming for the past few nights that I am trying to kill her. And I don't even know why she would think that..." He casted his eyes down to his feet, "maybe it's just me that is making her so ill-"_

_"DON'T you dare say that, Stilinski!" Scott interrupted with a stern look, "your mother loves you unconditionally. It is just the sickness talking. I know that she doesn't mean a single word of it."_

_Stiles fought the urge to roll his eyes and instead gave the other a convincing small smile. "Yeah. You're right, Scotty. She'll get better soon..." One last gentle rub on his shoulder, then Scot pulled away. "Okay... Good..." Then his eyebrows knitted together, "hey Stiles."_

_"Yes?"_

_"D-Didnt your father say that there was a sighting of a w-werewolf nearby?" he asked with a slight fear tone.  Stiles furrowed his eyebrows in remembrance of his father's words, but then only snorted with a nudge to the other's shoulder. "Calm down, Scotty," he chirped, "werewolf? There hasn't been proof of any weres around here since- I dunno, sixty somewhat years ago? I'm sure it's just a coyote or something." Scott managed a nervous chuckle and nodded._

_"R-Right."_

_Stiles grabbed his unrelated brother's wrist and tugged it forward with him. "Come on, let's see if we can add to our stone collection!"_

* * *

**_"C-c-come... Come... O-On-On.. Breathe... Come on!... Breathe-th-the!"_ **

Stiles could feel a firm strong pressure being pushed upon his still chest for a second, before being lifted for a half second, then being applied again. Repeatedly for about five times. Then he could feel something warm pressing against his cold lips and the luxurious feeling of air being given. One gift of air... Two gifts of air... Then the warmth on his lips left. 

The pressings on his chest given, starting to push trapped water from his breathing passage... Then warmth on his lips, granting him air... Pressings... Warmth... Air.... Pressings... Warmth air... 

The voice... It was a man's voice, deep and rough, yet demanding in a gentle manner. The man wasn't the werewolf that Stiles had been running from. It was a different man. The man was calling him- not by his name, but by command.... It was a very strong command and the teen felt drawn to it. 

**_"Damnit!... Breathe- Br- Bre- the..."_ **

Heavenly, it echoed. It felt like the hand of God gripping Stiles by his soul and pulling it  forward back from the water he had been drowning in. His every being screamed at him to get the hell up. To open his eyes.... To respond back... Slowly, he felt his heart beating again in a slow pace, then rise as adrenaline replenished it once more. 

Then, the pressure on his chest, the warmth on his lips, and the air being granted had stopped... And Stiles felt like he was dying again... Slowly slipping away... The hands of Death reaching to brush against his forehead and end his life with the touch of silence... 

Then the man's voice, _roared_. An actual _roar_ , sounding so animalistic that it wound shake the Heavens and cause thunder to boom in its own non-existing fear. 

**_"BREATHE!"_ **

A heavy and swift weight of something hard and powerful slammed down upon his chest and all of a sudden, water shot up Stiles' lungs and his mouth automatically opened, spouting a waterfall. His eyes snapped open to greet the blue skies that he thought he'd never see again. His neck arched and muscles reeled back to a steady function and as weak as he was, he managed to hold his chest arched for two seconds before flopping breathlessly back down on the gravel under. Then he saw the man... The man who had saved him with a howl of an animal and the strength of a god. But he could not see the man exactly.

The teen's vision was too blurry and unclear. But what he could see was the faint smudges of a beard, and then two dots of the most beautiful color. Then the smudged blurry face leaned close and Stiles felt the warmth of a hand cup the side of his face. 

" _Safe... You're safe now..."_

He instantly believed that voice. Those words. _Safe_... Unfortunately, he felt unconsciousness take advantage of his weakness and felt his mind slowly begin to drift. He only managed what he hoped was a weak understanding nod. Sadly, before he could slip out a desperate ' _Thank You'_... He passed out. And then heard the very familiar scream of a little boy...

* * *

   _"HELP!"_

_Stiles was currently trapped in between with his back against a large rock and in front of him was a sick grey gruesome creature resembling a wolf. The eyes were a glowing red and the pointed teeth it owned had strings of saliva dripping in giant slimey drops before plopping onto the leaves below. The boy was frozen in pure terror as the wolf edged closer to him, a hunger raging through its merciless eyes._

_He was going to die, he knew it..._

_So with a loud whimper, Stile's clenched his eyes shut and turned his head to the side, awaiting for a killing strike to end him once and forevermore._

_"GET AWAY FROM MY BROTHER!" came the cry of Scott, then the yelp of the wolf. Stiles snapped his eyes open and shot his gaze to see the wolf limping a bit with a sharp spear driven into one of its' hind leg. And he saw Scott, standing now weaponless at an angle where Stiles could see him. "No! SCOTT RUN!" he screamed. Scott frowned at him. "Not without you!" he replied back stubbornly. Stiles could see the wolf turning its attention to the dark haired boy... Then it leaped..._

_And then the next thing Stiles knew was seeing his best friend's his brother, being tackled by its massive form. And he heard himself shriek through tears._

_"SCOTTY!!!!"_

_The wolf was on Scott's screaming form one second, then bounded into the dark of the forest the next. Stiles felt like rise in his throat, unable to meet his eyes with what was probably Scott's dead... Mauled... Ripped to shreds, body. He didn't want to see it. So with a choked sob, he wrapped his arms around his knees and hid his face in his legs, rocking himself. Sobs broke him and he wailed loudly, never caring he could end up like Scott if he didn't leave now. "I'm so sorry, Scott," he whispered brokenly..._

_... "St... Stiles?"_

_Stiles perked up by the weak whisper and shot his head in Scott's direction. The boy was laying sprawled in the same spot he had been tackled, but was now holding his side and rocking on his back, side to side with pained sounds escaping his lips. "Owww!" he whimpered. Stiles- beaming like an idiot- stumbled to his feet and slid to his friend's side within five second tops._

_"Scotty! You're alive!" he cried. With no thought at all, he gathered his brother into his arms in a crushing hug, only to push himself away when Scott let out a small cry of pain. Stiles looked down to see that a fair amount of dark red soaked Scott's torn shirt. "Oh no," the young Stilinski whispered. He helped his friend up by throwing Scott's arm around his shoulder as leverage. Scott winced by the movement and cradled his side._

_"Gah! I think it got me," he hissed._

_Stiles felt his stomach twist but smiled hopefully, looking up at his friend. A well known fear was shared among the villagers about if a werewolf attacked a human and that human lived. It passed through his thoughts but he shook it out just as quickly. "Yeah. But it probably scratched you, surely. No harm done to its' fullest..." He licked his lips nervously. "Here, lemme see, buddy."_

_Scott nodded and his hands- still shaking like leaves from his near death experience- gripped the hem of his ripped shirt and pulled it up, revealing the ugly torn tissue of his right side that leaked blood. Stiles nealry fainted by the sight- he was never so quite fond of blood and gore. Still, as he inspected it, he could not tell if it were a bite mark or a claw mark. The dragging gashes looked like claw marks to him, so he took it at his best guess. Relief filed him and he patted Scott's uninjured side._

_"You're good."_

_Scott still looked unsure and afraid. Stiles gave his brother a reassuring watery smile and affectionately patted his face. "Hey, you're gonna be alright, okay, Scotty?"_

_"Okay..."_

_"Good. Let's go, we gotta get you to your Melissa. She'll know what to do."_

_As Scott limped and Stiles aided, the dark haired boy snorted. "Wait until your dad hears about this. We are SO dead."_

* * *

 The laughter of the two boys echoed through Stiles' mind and grew faint until they fully vanished. And the clear sound of birds chirping and wind blowing brought him back to the living. 

Amber eyes weakly opened once more and he was met with blue skies. Blue?... His eyebrows knitted together in confusion. He turned his head to the left, and saw nothing except the rushing river and trees... Then he turned his head to the right, and saw more trees. There was a squirrel a few feet away eating at an acorn before it met Stiles' gaze and scurried away, suddenly frightened. Stiles took a deep sigh and looked at his pale hands that were angled next to his head. He moved his fingers to gently rub the back knuckles against the smooth stone as he tried to remember how he ended up on the ground near a river. His memory was jostled and foggy so it was quite difficult. 

Stiles gasped.

Wait... 

_Foggy..._

One by one, the past events passed through his mind, collecting themselves backwards... He remembers he was drowning... Then he had been running... So he was running and ended up drowning somehow... Then there was a voice of an evil man taunting him and calling him  _Little Red..._ Then red beating eyes... Then more red eyes... Growling... He and John being in the path of an Alpha Pack.... 

Hit by an inviable force, Stiles choked on his own gasped and lurched up into a sitting position, trying ignore the soreness of his back, sides, and chesr.  _"Dad!"_ he cried (his voice is raspy and dry which nearly has him coughing) and scrambled to his feet. Wide amber eyes darted all around the empty area now that the fog was gone. He remembers that the evil Alpha werewolf had knocked his dad to the side to get to him. But then the running. Maybe that was before- nono maybe after...? Wait, which way did he come from. Desperately, Stiles looked to the other side of the river, than the side he was on. His memory is too mixed up to retrace his steps. 

Stiles whimpers and cups both hands around his mouth. " _Father!?... Father!"_ he hollers. Silence is what he receives. Nothing but the birds chirping and the locusts buzzing. He bites worriedly at his bottom lip and tugs at his hair. Anxiety threatens to grip him. "Oh nonononono!" he whispers. He looks behind him at the trees, a burning ember of hope holding him up. Maybe he came down this way! Yes, he can probably find John there. He takes a a chance and runs down his estimated path in hopes of finding John Stilinski. 

Stiles briskly walks through the trees and jumps over fallen trees, head never looking down but instead all directions. All he needs is to find at least a hint of tan leather in order to find his dad. The fear of losing the man is too great but the hopes of finding him and getting him safe is much greater. Stiles runs a blind hand down his waist, taking not that his clothes are somewhat dry, so he probably has been unconscious at the river bed for a while. That gives him the thought that maybe John is probably looking for him too. It makes the teen suddenly unsure about his moving of location. 

Maybe he should have stayed put in case his father was only minutes away from finding him. Stiles shakes the frightening thought of being so close to reuniting with his father away and brushes his hand against the soft surface of the satchel. He stops for moment beige looking inside, glad to see that the items he held inside were still there. Finally something didn't end up into shit.

He continues walking. Probably even further than he wants to go. A strong fear though sticks to the back of his mind about the Alpha's that chased him were still lingering around... Waiting to grab at him again. That fear of seven years ago resurfacing when he went too far into the woods... That fear of those red eyes and grey gruesome body... 

Stiles violently shivered for a moment and had to stop in order to shake himself back to a level of courage. "Come one, Stilinski, you mongrel," he growled at himself and leaned against a tree, "pull yourself together. Just find Dad and get back to the village." He changed the last part as he continued once again with his search. Only five minutes had passed before something at a distance caught Stiles' eyes. Squinting, he took cautious steps forward and leaned close trying to make out what he was seeing. After walking seven more feet, what he could make out was a wooden house... Or what was left of it. 

A hopeful thought urged the teen further. Maybe his father took shelter there! What started as a haste walk, turned into a full sprint. It only took a good three minutes to make it to the run down house... Stiles reeled a bit back by its condition. It was huge, yes... But what once could have been good lumber was now charred black wood, cracked and broken on some parts. The porch steps looked to be barley holding itself up and the porch itself looked as if it were about to cave. The house railings were broken and beaten... But the door... Stiles cocked a curious, suspicious eyebrow. The door look new and... Oddly placed for this kind of house. Either ways, Stiles put the ideas aside and cautiously walked up the steps, that creaked and screamed by his light weight. 

Every step made him wince and pray that it  wouldn't cave in on him at any given moment. "Whatever happened to this place must have been tragic," he murmured to himself. He luckily (and surprisingly) made it to the door with his feet still intact. He stared at the wooden surface. Should he still knock? Just in case if a raccoon or something decided to take shelter in this rundown place? 

He smiled by his own sarcasm. Stiles licked his lips and pressed his palm gently against the door, running it down the smooth surface in thought. He should still knock, it seems very formal, very natural... Stiles rolls his eyes and nearly laughs at his silly thoughts. "Oh come on, Stiles," he snorts, "what's the chances of some poor soul living in a place like this?" 

Still, he's hesitant as he pushes against the handle and pushes the door open. Inside is dark, no light except the rays the outside is granting. But either way, Stiles sees the damage. The walls are covered in black smears and the furniture around are almost breaking to ashes. The stairs have missing steps and the carpet covering it is ripped and torn apart. John definitely could not have gone up there, despite being an excellent cliber so Stiles marks that idea out. He walks more into the burned home, not liking the way his feet echo through out the emptyish rooms and hallways. 

It is also kind of chilly inside, or that must be the dampness of his clothes, so Stiles tugs his hood more around his thin body. Even though everything looks destroyed, Stiles still takes the decency to step carefully over the fallen limbs of furniture and charcoled stuff dolls. The sight makes his heart ache. He even crouches down and picks up a small sewn doll from the ground that has black ash smothering it's delicate handmade beauty. He caresses the burned and dirty yarn strands of golden hair with solemn amber orbs. 

"Oh," he murmurs sadly, "poor thing. You must have made a beautiful child very happy." 

He drags his fingertips down the knitted pink dress and swipes at the ash covering it, making it looked a bit more back to its before condition. This home was probably a home to children... To a family... And now look at it. Stiles gave a soft sad hum, offering a silent respect for those that could have died in what looked to be a terrible fire.... Just as he was about to place the following back somewhere where it hopefully get dirtied again, a rough voice growled from behind:

_"What are you doing here?"_

The hairs on the back of Stiles' neck stood to its end. That voice... It sounded  _very_ familiar... Yet at the same time, it sounded very new. It sounded... Angry. Oh shit.

 Hands threatening to shake, Stiles slowly turned, now gripping onto the doll with white knuckles. There, stood right in front of the way he came from, stood a man... A gorgeous man with black hair and the most beautiful familiar shade of hazel... He had a beard though it wasn't very thick as one would expect, probably freshly shaven and was wearing a tan shirt with brown trousers followed by a leather overcoat. His arms were crossed over his puffed out heaving chest and Stiles won't lie when he says he probably had a bunch of wonderments of what kind of muscle lied under the leather. Yes, the man was irresistible to the eyes, but... He looked down right _pissed._

Stiles never knew one could be capable in such a deadly scowl. Like an idiot, Stiles stumbled on his words, "Uhhhh- L-Look um..." He began to babble when the man started taking furious strides towards him, yet the teen couldn't find the power in himself to step back. He felt frozen in place once more. "Uh, listen sir, I um-uhhh, God- I knew I should have knocked, I-I didn't mean to- aw shit! I didn't think I was intruding since this place looked like Hell-" 

The man seemed to grow more angered by the teen's choice of words. He never knew a scowl can go further. Stiles bit his worned out lip. Great, he just insulted the guy's home. "Did I say 'it looked like Hell?' Oh silly me, I mean it looks godly, son of a bitch I didn't mean to insult you-" 

Now the man towered over his trembling form which in the naughty parts of gis mind, looks vert enticing, but in the more logic side it is... well, terrifying at the same time. Stiles gulped and shrunk back when a hand gripped onto his upper arm in a harsh manner, but he forgot to hiss in pain. "Okay! I'll go, I'll leave- but I was only looking for my father, yeah- John Stilinski? He's the Leader of Beacon Village? You see we got separated when we were attacked by a... Pack... Of..." As Stiles stared frighteningly up at the man, he watched as the beautiful hazel eyes began to change... Until they flashed a glowing...  _red._

"Al... pha..."

Images of red eyes peering from the mist flashed through his vision followed by the ones that belonged to the grey gruesome werewolf that had attacked him and Scott seven years ago. Familar growls and snarls... Sharp teetg and canines... A fear like no other shot directly up Stiles' spine that it nearly sent stars past his eyes. His chest stiffened a second by a hitched  breath refusing to go out. The werewolf that was responsible for the separation of him and his father had replaced the body of the man that was currently gripping Stiles by the arm, and that werewolf's face was leering predatory at him, with that sickening grin. Teeth patruding as well, waiting to either bite or devour him.

_"Run, run, Little Red."_

The doll unconsciously dropped from Stiles' trembling hands and fell to the floor, landing with a soft thud at their feet.... Stiles' didn't register the way the dark haired man's scowl softened just a bit to add a confused glare... Stiles didn't register the man asking again- demanding why he was here... 

Words refused to spill from the boy's lips as he stared terrified up at those red eyes. His lips trembled and a river filled the distance in his big amber eyes... Then... Just like something from the fear had snapped inside his throat, Stiles felt his voice shoving its way up at increasing speed. And as soon as it reached his agape mouth, that automatically opened wider... 

He released a blood curdling  _shriek,_ and brought his free arm back, before connecting his trembling fist directly into the man's jaw....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha! Cliffie on the first chapter *Evil laughter*... I'm gonna have a hell if a time writing Derek's part hehe. Please show your support and encouragement! I beg of you!!!


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